


crashing down (one breakup day)

by iamnotbrianmay



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Jealousy, Multi, Song: Sail Away Sweet Sister, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:43:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnotbrianmay/pseuds/iamnotbrianmay
Summary: Tim slapped the bed with such force it shook, “It’s fucking unfair. And it’s even more unfair because I’m excited for you too, and I know that you are going to make it big, and I can’t have that. I won’t ever have that.”
Relationships: Brian May/Tim Staffell/Roger Taylor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	1. breakup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sammyspreadyourwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyspreadyourwings/gifts), [epherians](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epherians/gifts).



> This is a gift to the resident Poly!Smile Fan, Sammy. I hope you like it babes.

It was a cold, damp, morning the day that Tim broke up with them. The weird thing had been that if anything Brian had expected for Tim to  _ propose _ to them, not break up. For the past couple of weeks, Tim had been nothing but smitten with them. Bringing them roses every chance he got, driving them and picking them up from the studio when he had the time, and even making them diner. 

If Brian was being honest, the last thing had made him giddy just because Tim never cooked unless he was feeling particularly romantic. It was a shame, really, because Tim was the best cook Brian had ever met, and it hurt knowing that they could have the most delicious food in the world, yet not being able to eat it because of Tim’s reluctance to do anything in the kitchen unless he was in the mood. 

Roger had, actually, been the one that confessed to Brian that he thought Tim was going to propose to them. He had whispered it to Brian when they were in bed waiting for Tim to tell them that coffee was ready three days before the bassist broke up with them, and Roger had giggled out his theory. It seemed only logical. 

Well, apparently it hadn’t been. 

Brian woke up to the smell of rain and the soft breeze coming from the window in the far corner of their room. The one that the drummer insisted on leaving open at all times. It was a pleasant way to wake up, even more so when he felt Roger’s tiny puffs of breath against his neck and felt the way that their limbs were tangled below the sheets. The only thing that would make it better was if their boyfriend was there with them. 

It wasn’t unusual for Tim to get out of bed first. He was an early riser and quite restless, so more often than not Brian and Roger woke up alone. Hence why Brian didn’t think anything could be wrong. He untangled himself from Roger’s grasp, placing a pillow to replace him, and then padded out of their bedroom and into the kitchen where he was sure he was going to find Tim. 

The Bassist was there, perched in the kitchen isle, a cup of coffee in his hands, and fully dressed. That was the first truly odd thing Brian saw. As much as Tim was an early riser, he never really showered or changed out of his pyjamas unless strictly necessary. For a second Brian wondered whether Tim was going to have a job interview or something similar, but then he set that idea aside. 

They would know if he were to have one, he would have told them. There was nothing about his boyfriends that Brian didn’t know. He liked to have their schedule and other things memorised just to make sure that he could make the most out of the day, and today they had nothing to do. He had planned a day in with a crappy movie and homemade caramel popcorn, Tim wasn’t supposed to get showered today. 

Brian walked over, took the cup out of Tim’s hand, and then slumped forward so that he was draped all over the bassist. He felt Tim card his hand through his hair and Brian hummed in content, “Why are you up and dressed so early?” 

“We need to talk.” 

“We,” Brian leaned back to look at Tim, then leaned over to give his boyfriend a kiss, “can talk we Roger gets up. For now, I just want to kiss you.” 

He leans again towards Tim but the other man just places a hand on Brian’s cheek, stopping him, “No, Brimi. We need to  _ talk.”  _

He doesn’t like the sound of that. If life has taught him anything it was that Tim’s talks are anything but pleasant. The bassist never really complained unless it was something that was driving him mad or something he really hated, and Brian didn’t want to know what it was. 

He was perfectly content with his relationship at the moment, thank you very much, he didn’t want to change it. However, the look in Tim’s face told him it was serious, serious enough for him to consider waking Roger up and making him come to the kitchen. He didn’t want to face Roger’ wrath, but he did want to get this over with as soon as possible so that they could get back to kissing and cuddling as soon as humanly possible. 

He leaned back, the only parts of his body still touching Tim were his hands, which were laid on his knees, but even then Tim looked uncomfortable. There was this sadness hanging around him that Brian couldn’t quite comprehend. It made him feel odd to see Tim, level headed, optimistic Tim, look at Brian as if his world had just cracked in two. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and nervousness rise in his stomach. 

“Tim? Are you okay?” 

The bassist opened his mouth to respond when a low whine came from their bedroom meaning that Roger had woken up and was in the process of stretching himself. He patted Tim’s leg twice, signalling for him to follow Brian, and they walked out of the kitchen together. Roger was still laying in bed, his hair around his face like a beautiful golden halo, and his eyes droopy with sleep, a lazy smile spread across his face when he saw both of his boyfriends. It made something in Brian’s chest swell to see Roger like this. 

“Would you look at that,” he said, voice still hoarse with sleep, “I seem to have two angels at my beck and call.” 

Tim smirked, “Keep dreaming, blondie, I’m just here to cuddle with Brian.” 

He really did hate to ruin the mood, especially since he most certainly didn’t want to talk about something serious at eleven am, but he had no choice. He really did want some answers, “Actually—” 

The smiles vanished from both of the other men’s faces, and Tim cleared his throat, “Right, actually, I think we need to talk. The three of us.” 

Roger sat up immediately, staring at Tim with wide eyes that would flicker over to Brian every so often, almost as if he was convinced that the guitarist had the answers. Brian didn’t, but he really did hope that whatever it was, it wouldn’t put a strain in their relationship. He wanted to enjoy being with Tim while they were on a break from their European Tour with Queen. He didn’t want to spend that time fighting or giving each other the silent treatment. 

Tim sat down on the end of the bed, and Brian followed suit, except that he perched himself on the far corner of the bed, away from his boyfriends wanting to give them space. He didn’t want to be the first thing in Roger’s way if things went badly. The bassist looked up, focusing on each of them individually before he sighed and started to fiddle with the cuff of his pants, “I think I— I want to break up.” 

There was a second of silence where all of the air seemed to have been sucked out of Brian’s lungs. He stared at Tim with confusion, and tried to will the nightmare to end. It had to be a nightmare. It had too. 

In a few moments, he would wake up and find Tim dancing along to the Bees Gees in the kitchen while making coffee, and Roger would wake up in his usual state of distaste for the land of the living, and everything would be  _ alright _ . Everything would be perfectly  _ fine _ . 

But that never came. Instead, he found himself looking at Tim with wide eyes, as the bassist’s eyes filled with tears and he started to shake. Then he would have to hear Roger’s voice asking Tim what he was on about while laughing. While Brian dealt with shock by shutting himself off completely, Roger dealt with it by denial. 

“Come off it, Tim,” he laughed again when his question went unanswered, “please, It’s too fucking early to be playing games.” 

But Tim didn’t laugh, he didn’t say sorry for making such a bad joke, or turn over to Brian to reassure him that it was just a bad dream. Instead, he sighed again, and looked up to meet Roger’s eyes, “I’m not playing. I actually want to break up with you two.” 

He expected Roger to get angry. To let t his temper get the best of him. To storm out of the room and scream about leaving until Tim got his shit together. Roger wasn’t one to stand heartbreak or even let it show that it was affecting him. But instead of any of those things happening, he placed his head into his hands and broke down into tears. 

Brian wasn’t that lucky. His emotions seemed to have ground to a stop, and now he could do nothing more than stare at Tim with empty eyes, mind trying, and failing, to understand what was happening. Roger was crying, Tim looked three seconds away from following suit, and something about a break up had been tossed in the air. That was about it in terms of what Brian understood. The words seemed to have turned him dumb, seemed to have entered his Brian and turned off all complex thinking skills for him, and he was left with nothing but bulging eyes and an open mouth. 

It didn’t make sense. Not when they had been so happy. Not when they had had the best years of their life and Tim had shown no sign of wanting to break up from them. Or maybe Brian  _ thought _ that Tim showed no signs, maybe he had just been too blind to actually see it. He couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening around him, all that he knew was that he wanted someone to explain it to him, in the simplest, least complicated, less confusion-prone words, and make him understand what had just happened. What had been brewing underneath their seemingly perfect relationship. 

All Brian could muster, however, was a broken, “Why?” 

His responses had turned all but monosyllabic. He couldn’t muster another word to save his life. Not at the moment, and maybe not until the horrible feeling in his chest, the one that felt like someone was craving Tim’s words into his chest with a scalpel, would ease. That is if he ever managed to ease it. 

Tim turned towards him, and under his stare, Brian felt like he couldn’t breathe. This was the love of his life. One of the two people he was sure that he was going to spend the rest of his days with. He didn’t want to think that maybe he wouldn’t. 

Tim let out a humourless laugh, “You’ll hate me if I tell you.”

There was a heavy silence, only Broken by Roger’s odd sob. It felt… otherwordly to be the one without tears in his eyes. He was supposed to be the sensitive soul, the one that cried at the drop of a feather, now it seemed that the tables had turned, and Brian was left nearly robotic. He shook his head, and asked again, “ _ Why _ ?” 

Tim looked away, almost as if it hurt too much to look at Brian in the face, and laughed again, “I’m jealous. I’m too jealous. I don’t think I’ll survive if I continue being in love with you.” 

“Jealous?” 

Tim nodded, running a hand down his face, “You are living  _ my _ dream, Brian. You are touring the world, filling out venues, making music, and playing your instruments for  _ a living.  _ You have everything I had ever wanted to have, and I am stuck here in London, working a stupid job at a studio while you do everything I had ever wanted.” 

“Tim—” 

“No, wait. Hear me out. I love you so much. I love you two to the moon and back and I am so proud of what you are doing, and I love your songs, and I would never ask for you to give that up for me. But that was my dream too,” Tim wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, “That was the one thing I had dreamt about since I was a little boy. That was the thing I dropped out of my degree for. That was the thing I decided to change bands for. You two weren’t willing to give up your degree for the band, you let me go because you knew that I wanted to practice more, I wanted to dedicate full time to the band and you were willing to pay for my food, my rent, my everything because you two had actual jobs, and now you two are the ones touring the world, with a number one hit.” 

Tim slapped the bed with such force it shook, “It’s fucking unfair. And it’s even more unfair because I’m excited for you too, and I know that you are going to make it big, and I can’t have that. I won’t ever have that.” 

And of course. Now that Tim put it that way it made sense as too why he was acting like that, why he wanted to break up with them. And Tim was, in a sense, right. They’d only given up work when the bad had taken off. Brian had only recently dropped out of his PhD, and Roger and Freddie had only closed their clothing stall when the record label started to pay. Tim had dropped out of University when they had started Smile, he had turned down offers of Jobs way before Humpy Bong had been offered to play in Top of the Pops, and they had actually been offered to play, not like them who had to cover up after Elton had dropped out last minute. Queen, who had only been offered to play because Elton had recommended them. 

Tim was right. It had been his dream long before it had been Brian’s, and maybe even Roger’s, and now he had to watch from the sidelines as his own boyfriends sold enough records to buy them a house, while he worked a 9 to 5 desk job designing children’s cartoons. Thomas the Train had been a hit, it had given them enough money to go on vacations to Australia, but it was not even close to Tim’s original dream. Not even close to the dream that Roger and Brian were living. 

“I don’t  _ want _ to break up with you, but I don’t want it to hurt any longer.” 

Brian looked at Roger, his sobbing had stopped and he was looking at Tim with something akin to understanding in his eyes. Because both of them knew that Tim was right. When Brian looked at his boyfriend he could see the strain, the pain, the everything that Tim was carrying as he had never been able to do so before. He could see it in the way that his job had taken away from him more life in three years, than living from scraps and old beer had. He could see it in the way that the calluses he had on his hands were more like the ones of an artist rather than a bassist, and he could see it in the way that his voice broke as he finished his rant. 

Brian, however, couldn’t come up with something else to say. He didn’t have a counterpoint, didn’t think that anything he said could change Tim’s stance. Roger, however, shook his head, “I’ll give up Queen for you.” 

Tim shook his head, “Don’t be fucking stupid. Even if you could give up Queen, you’d be miserable for the rest of your life. You’d end up hating me more than you do now. It might have been my dream first, but it’s your dream too. Your Job, your source of happiness, your outlet. I can’t do that to you, to either of you.” 

“Tim I don’t hate you. I just want you back.” 

“I’ll never leave,” his voice was sweet and soft, almost as if he wanted to soothe Roger, “I’ll be here buying all of your records, listening to your songs, making fun of your stupid lyrics if you let me. But I can’t keep living like this either. I don’t want to grow resentful. I don’t want to hate you for something so wonderful. But every time that I hear  _ Killer Queen  _ or  _ Bohemian Rhapsody  _ on the radio I can’t help but feel jealous and believe me, Roger, I would rather die than grow to hate you.” 

There was a long silence in which Brian was sure that he could hear his own heartbeat. Tim was right. He would, too, rather die than grow to hate Roger or resent Tim. He would rather rip his own heart out than learn to hate the loves of his life. 

“You can leave.” 

“ _ Brian.”  _ Roger seemed furious at his decision, but he can deal with Roger’s anger, (and maybe break up) if he needs to. But the mere idea of Tim hating them has him on edge. It makes something similar to nausea rise from the pit of his stomach and take over what little rational thoughts he still has. If there is one thing he is for sure, is that the one thing that he doesn’t want to happen is that Tim hates them. The rest he can deal with. 

He leans over, ghosting his hands over Tim’s until the bassist grabs the guitarist’s hands in his own, “It’s okay. I understand. And I’m sure that Roger will too. At some point. But you can leave, Tim. I’m not saying it will not hurt, but I’d rather have that.” 

The words seem to breathe a breath of relief to Tim, who instantly, wraps his arms around Brian. He holds him tight as the day that he left for Humpy Bong, and Brian can’t help but feel some tears spring into his eyes, “Just know that I’ll always be waiting for you if you ever want to come back.” 

“I don’t deserve you.” 

They hear Roger jump out of bed and slam the door to their bedroom open.  _ There he is,  _ Brian thinks, and it’s now his turn for relief to flood his system. They hear Roger looking around for the keys of his car, and then they hear as he throws something heavy against a wall. Probably the wooden sculpture in the kitchen, the one that he considered hideous and was waiting for the perfect moment to throw out, “Fuck you, Tim. You are right, you  _ don’t _ deserve us.” 

The door slams as he walks out, and Tim only tightens his arms around Brian, “I don’t blame him.” 

“He’ll come around.” 

“You think so?” 

“Give him a week,” Brian whispered burying his head into the crook of Tim’s neck, “he’ll miss you in bed and his rage will be gone.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be, I understand.”


	2. songwriting

The night that Brian wrote Sail Away, Sweet Sister was a warm and cosy night in the middle of June, nearly two years after Tim had broken up with them. He was sitting in the grand piano of Freddie’s newly acquired mansion, with a notebook in one hand as the other worked out the chords in the song. 

He knew he shouldn’t be making so much noise at three in the morning, but at the same time, he doubted that his friends were going to wake up any time soon. Freddie had gulped down half a bottle of Vodka, while John and Roger had finished a newly opened bottle of scotch. They were not dying of alcohol poisoning by the acts of God, and they sure as hell wouldn’t wake up because Brian was playing the piano. 

Or so he thought. 

He had been so engrossed in finishing the damned song that he didn’t notice that someone had quietly padded down the stairs and was walking towards Brian until Roger had draped himself over his back. He smelled strongly of whiskey, and his movements weren’t all that coordinated, but at least now he was able to walk on his own. That was a clear improvement from his previous state. 

“Come to bed,” he slurred, pressing his face to the crook of Brian’s neck and placing small kisses there, “it’s large and cold, and I don’t like sleeping alone.” 

Brian wanted to run around and cradle Roger in his arms, but something inside him told him that if he tried to move the blonde would fall, “I can’t sleep.” 

The blonde hummed, burrowing deeper into Brian’s neck, “I’ll help you.” 

As much as Brian would love a good hard fuck, he isn’t in the mood right now. Not when the memory of Tim is so fresh in his mind, and he can’t help but think about the countless nights he spent being fucked raw by Tim and Roger, taken care of by  _ both  _ of his boyfriends in a way that one boyfriend can’t really manage. It feels heavy and fills his heart with lead to even think about Tim, he doesn’t need to think about Tim loving him, or he might break down. 

“I’m not in the mood, Roger,” he pried his (slightly drunk) boyfriend from his back and turned around so that he was facing the blonde. Roger instantly climbed onto his lap and wrapped his legs around Brian like a Koala, burying his head in Brian’s neck. 

“Yeah, me neither. I had a dream about… it woke me up. I just want you to come back to bed, whatever takes to do that I’ll be happy to provide.” 

The tone of Roger’s voice let Brian know that he had been thinking about Tim too. Roger had taken Tim’s breakup with them much harder than Brian had if you could believe that. Where Brian had been melancholic and gloomy, Roger had been full blow depressed. He had refused to leave their bed for three days, didn’t eat anything but Graham Crackers and green apple for a week, and had refused to shower or comb his hair for a full two weeks before Brian kicked him into the shower to stop the smell from killing him. 

He had only seen himself get that bad, and he had most definitely never thought that he would get to see Roger, lively, lovely, emotional Roger, in such a state. It had taken a toll on Brian as well, who had to see his remaining boyfriend waste away to nothing as Roger came to terms with what had happened. It had also taken a toll on Brian when with tear-stained cheeks the blonde had asked him not to leave even. As if Brian could live with only one-third of his heart, at least with Roger by his side, he felt like he could breathe. 

Now, halfway through producing their new album, Brian finds it that Tim’s memories are still as hurtful as they felt those first few weeks, but that he can manage them much better. He can even write a song about it, which is a step in the right direction… probably. 

“What are you working on?” The smell of whiskey is much stronger when Roger is laying this close to Brian, and it almost makes Brian wish that he would have joined in with the other boys. But after his feud in Munich with the Stripper and Cocaine, he would much rather lay off the alcohol. At least for a while. Once they are back to touring it is almost inevitable that he will end up shitfaced. 

“A song,” he expects that remark from Roger which he always gets when he makes an obvious statement. Still, when nothing comes, Brian knows that Roger probably understands the gravity of the situation, “A song for Tim.” 

There is a soft sigh before Roger starts to tap a beat out in Brian’s back like he knows Roger often does when he is pensive. He must be reading the song, Brian guesses this because he can feel the soft breaths as Roger forms the vowels with his mouth, and Brian stays very still. There is a loud thumping coming from his head as the worry builds about Roger not really liking the song, or even worse, like it enough to beg Brian to put it in the album. 

For Roger, he would, without thinking twice about it. But he doesn’t quite want to feel the shame that will pour in when Tim writes them his letter talking about the new album, and he either mentions the song and makes it a big deal, or he doesn’t mention it at all. They had read the letters about the two past albums with almost biblical awe. They read and absorbed everything to the point where Brian could recite entire passages back to Freddie every time they tried to do something Tim had advised them not to do. It always earned him a look from Roger, but there was nothing Brian could do about that. He was a People-Pleaser. 

Well, actually he wanted Tim to feel like he was part of a famous album too, but that was an ulterior motive that nobody had to know about. 

He was so lost in thought that he almost forgot Roger had been reading his song until he felt something wet stick to his neck. Roger didn’t often cry, not when he could scream and trash the room, letting out all of his emotions using anger instead of tears. So to know that Roger was crying because of a song he wrote made something inside on Brian stir. He started to run his hands through Roger’s hair, letting his fingers take care of any tangle he found on the way. 

“It’s a beautiful song.” 

“It’s a sad song.” 

“That doesn’t make it any less beautiful.” 

There is a long silence, in which Brian was taken back to that morning a few months ago. It had taken a lot of time for Roger to understand, but he had eventually forgiven Tim for wanting to leave. It hadn’t been a big revelation, one where Roger had had one of his tantrums before confession to Brian that he finally,  _ finally,  _ understood. Instead, they had been laying in the grass of their new house, sipping on freshly made coffee and enjoying the evening sun. And Roger had blurted it out. 

_ “I think I understand. I really do.”  _

_ “What?”  _ Brian had been too deep in thought to put two and two together,  _ What do you understand?”  _

_ “I couldn’t imagine what would be of me if it had been you and Tim instead of you and me. I’d be a dentist, taking out cavities and smelling old people’s breath while the two loves of my life living my dream.”  _

_ “You’d be a biologist, not a dentist.”  _

Roger shoots him one of his signature smiles. The cheeky ones that make his eyes sparkle and show off his pearly teeth, “ _ Even worse then. I’d be a middle school teacher.”  _

The memory brings something bittersweet to Brian, mainly because Roger had forgiven him, yet he didn’t want him back, yet. But that had been before the tour had ended before they started writing this album before his emotions were resolved through aggressive drumming. 

Now there was one thing that Brian really wanted to know, “Rog, baby. Can I ask you a question?” 

The seriousness in his voice might have tipped off Roger to what the question might be, but he still listened to Brian, waiting as if to avoid confusion. Brian scrunched his nose before deciding not to dwell on how to formulate the phrase, “Would you allow him back? I mean, would you be able to have Tim come back to us if he ever wanted to?” 

There was a heavy silence in the room, something akin to the moments after bad news had been delivered when nobody can think of anything but of what had just been said. Then Roger sighed, “Maybe. Not now. Not  _ right _ now. Not when it still hurts like a bitch.” 

Brian licked his lips, nervously, “But?” 

“But at some point, I might be able to let him back in. No, scratch that, I will be able to let him back in. He was, and he still is, the love of my life.” 

It was a heavy confession, one that Brian didn’t quite know how to handle mainly because he had come to terms, and allowed Tim to come back, right after they had broken up. However, he understood why Roger did, and said, what he did. Roger’s emotions made perfect sense to Brian as It had made perfect sense for Tim to leave. The blonde leaned forward, placing a kiss to the tip of Brian’s nose.

It was amazing how that could still make him blush like crazy, and Roger seemed to enjoy it too because he let out the sweetest giggly that Brian had ever heard, “Why are you so good with everyone’s emotions but yours?” 

Brian laughed along with Roger, relishing in the way that their bodies fit in together as they did, and the room warmed up into a very comfortable atmosphere as they filled it with laughter. He didn’t care if he woke up Freddie and John, although he seriously doubted that they would. They kept talking and giggling like schoolgirls, exchanging sweet, short kisses as they did. 

At that moment the only two people that existed were him and Roger, and for now, that was all he needed. 


	3. the chance

The afternoon that Tim came back was a quiet one. Brian and Roger had been reading one of the novels that Jobby had recommended to them. Brian was wearing his most comfortable (and incidentally his ugliest) pyjamas while sipping a cup of tea, while Roger lounged with his feet on Brian’s lap, sporting running shorts and a tank top. He had been sitting on the couch enjoying the warm sun that streamed through their windows and listening as Roger occasionally would smile and make Brian stop reading so that he could read and comment something about the chapter of the book. 

It was a miracle that Brian read just a little bit faster than Roger and that he could talk about it without being spoiled, he wouldn’t be able to stand reading with Roger if the situation was reversed. If he was honest with himself, he wasn’t enjoying Lord of the Rings as much as he thought he would, but just because he wanted to share something with Roger, and humour Jobby by reading at least one of the books, he recommended he kept going. Also, he was much too comfortable and frankly entertained, to get up. As much as he didn’t like the plot of the book, Brian had to give it to JR Tolkien, the man could _ write _ . 

He was in the process of sipping his tea when the doorbell rang, and for the first time that weekend, he cursed the fact that he had sent away their cooks and cleaners to have the house to themselves. He didn’t quite want to stand up, but there wasn’t another person in the house to answer the door, and by the look, Roger was giving him, he was sure that the blond would rather leave the person hanging than stand up. 

Brian sighed, he wasn’t that much of an asshole, although he ought to be one considering that they had just interrupted his alone time with his boyfriend. He just hoped that whoever was at that door wasn’t some paparazzi hoping to catch them in a good mood (not that they would ever be in such a good mood that they would open the door to a paparazzi) or a crazed fan who didn’t know that meaning of privacy. Best of cases it was Freddie vibrating with excitement over some gossip or idea he wanted to run through them or John sporting a copy of Lord of the Rings hoping to chat about the book. 

However, when he looked out of the peephole, he saw Tim Staffell and nearly had a heart attack. He was looking disgusting, probably smelling like that too given they hadn’t had a shower since they got from the studio on Friday, hair up in a half bun which wouldn’t be able to come down fast enough, with love bites littered all over his neck, and his ugliest pair of pyjamas on. They even had holes all over the legs and, embarrassingly, his crotch. 

He ran back to the living room, eyes wide and startling Roger as he went. Then turned back towards the door. He didn’t want to make Tim think he was ignoring him, “I’m coming!” 

Roger frowned, “Who’s at the door?” 

Brian ran his hand down his face, trying to calm his nerves, “Tim.” 

“Tim?” Roger hissed, “Our Tim?”  
“What other Tims do you know?” 

“Oh, Tim is a pretty common name.” 

“Shut up, Roger,” Brian tried not to raise his voice, he didn’t want Tim to know they were, in fact, close enough to have answered already, “Go answer the door!” 

Roger made a sound at the back of his throat, which sounded like an injured animal, “ _ You  _ go answer the door.” 

“Roger I’ve got a hole in my pants that practically lets you see my  _ dick _ through it! You go answer the door while I get changed.” 

Brian left no room for debate as he dashed up the stairs into the master bedroom and got out the first thing he could get his hands on out of the closet. He would never go for a pair of Roger’s running shorts, not when they were so damned  _ short,  _ but Tim was just outside the door, dressed nicely and waiting for them. The first thing he could grab would have to do. 

He ran down the stairs, acutely aware that the shorts barely covered his nearly non-existent ass, and got down just in time to see Roger gaping at Tim as he stood in the doorway holding the biggest bouquet of roses Brian had ever seen. And he had been there when Elton had given Freddie a ten pound one. 

Tim was dressed in what could only be considered his Sundays best. Hair cropped short and a five o’clock shadow which had the odd grey hair. He looked so incredibly out of place in their messy, smelly, chaotic home that it tugged at Brian’s heartstrings. It made him acutely aware that he was, in fact, not the same man that had left their old house three years ago. 

He walked down the last steps of the stairs and walked towards Roger, who was as pale as a wall, even though he had known exactly what was waiting for him, and let his eyes scan over their former bassist. He looked plumper, and matured, way more than they did anyway. At that moment, he was acutely aware of the fact that Tim looked like someone that worked at an office, and they didn’t. At all. Another fucking contrast that made him feel like throwing up everything inside him, or dropping to his knees and ask for forgiveness. He looked so much older than them, so out of place, and Brian couldn’t help but wonder what he would look like if it had been him in their band instead. How would have time treated him if instead of getting holed up in an office, he would have toured the world seven times? 

He shakes himself out of his thoughts. Regardless of how Tim looks, he seems happy. There are crinkles on the side of his eyes, and a small (albeit nervous) smile. Also, there appears to be an air of hope to him. Something akin to how Roger had been acting when he thought that Tim was going to propose to them three years before. He seemed to be bouncing from leg to leg, almost as if to burn that excited energy out of his system. 

Roger was the one to break the silence, “Tim.” 

“Hi,” he gave them a small smile and rocked to the heels of his feet, “I know I should have probably called in first, but then I would have talked myself out of doing this if I gave myself time to think. I can’t do that to myself again. I need you both back. 

So I decided to come without previous notice, and recklessly spent  _ so _ much money on this frankly ridiculously large bouquet, and now I have to ask you because I feel like my life is not complete without you—” 

Roger leaned over and clapped his hand over Tim’s mouth, “Tim, spit it out.” 

They locked eyes for a few seconds, and Roger lowered his hand once a certain level of understanding had been reached between them. It amazed Brian how, even after three years of nothing but album reviews exchanged between them, and the odd letter talking about something they just  _ needed  _ to tell him, they could still get to understand each other perfectly with just one look. Tim took a deep breath once the hand had been pulled away from his face, and his cheeks coloured in a way that could only be described as endearing. 

“I was just wondering if even after all this time what you said to me still stands. The part where you told me that I would always be welcomed back if I decided that I had gotten over all of my bullshit—” 

Brian shook his head, “Don’t call it that. It’s not— It’s not bullshit. You were right, you had your reasons to leave, and they were perfectly reasonable.” 

Tim took another big breath, “I know it won’t be the same as when I left. I’m not— I haven’t been part of this relationship for three years. Hell, I’m not even the same person as I was three years ago. I needed time to heal, I needed time to find myself and to come to terms with everything, and I’ve changed. I But I want you to give me a chance, just this once, to take you both on a date. To start over. To see if I can still be a part of this.” 

There was a two-second silence in which Tim struggled to hold his confident facade up, and in which Roger seemed to be processing what the other man had just said. Brian was done with waiting around, he had been hoping (dreaming, praying) for this day and now that it was finally here he couldn’t wait to have Tim back. There was just one problem, “I haven’t had a shower in about three days, so you have to wait for me to get ready.” 

And just like that, all of the tension seemed to seep out of the room. Tim chuckled, and Roger joined in, and seconds later they were all laughing as they let Tim into their home, once again. Brian took out a vase for the flowers that the older man had brought and Roger tried to get the kitchen looking presentable. They hadn’t washed a single dish since Friday either, and they had eaten a lot, so there were bowls strewn all over the place and had absolutely nothing to offer Tim to eat but some of the French Instant Noodles that they had lived off back when they were recording  _ Jazz _ . They were amazing, but not exactly the type of food you offer your estranged lover. 

Brian, on the other hand, was as delicate as possible while handling the flowers, and set the lovely bouquet of sunflowers and red roses, then using them as the centrepiece for their dining table. He smiled at Tim once that was done, and the man returned the smile. Roger walked up and laid a hand on Brian’s waist, “Go shower; you take longer.” 

It was the fastest shower of Brian’s life, even if he had to wash his hair, condition it, and then blow dry it for full effect. He also donned his favourite suit, the lavender coloured one that Roger had gifted him for his birthday, and which he only saved for special occasions. This constituted as one. 

Roger practically bolted out of the room once he saw that Brian was ready and he could be with Tim as he got showered, eager to get out of the house as fast as possible. Tim watches him go with awestruck eyes, as Brian looks at Tim like he is the most beautiful person he has ever laid his eyes on. It might have been because he hadn’t seen Tim in such a long time, but he seems to have forgotten about how beautiful the other man is. Leaving aside his little breakdown over the differences between them, Brian takes a step forward to admire how well age suits Tim. 

“I can’t believe it,” the older man whispers, “It’s like you two haven’t aged a day.” 

Brian scoffs, “Freddie says it’s due to the sunblock he always makes us put on some before we go on stage—” 

He realises his mistake a few seconds too late. It’s not that Tim’s face changes, or that the air is suddenly tense around them, but Brian finds himself worrying about scaring away Tim when he had just gotten him back. He had been so wrapped up with Tim’s compliment that he had forgotten entirely that that kind of talk was precisely what got him fed up with them in the first place. 

Some level of guilt must have crossed his features, or Tim must have realised that his story was cut short, because in his face softens and a small smile replaces the expression of absolute awe he had been sporting, “It’s alright, you can talk about it.” 

“Tim, I don’t—” 

“Brian,” the last step he took closed the distance between them, and suddenly they were almost chest to chest. It was then that Tim reached over hesitantly to lay a hand on Brian’s cheek, he hovered a few centimetres away, and Brian was the one that closed the distance. There were calluses in Tim’s hands that he didn’t quite remember, as well as the odd scar or two that he would have to ask about, but after he stayed like that for a moment, he felt more at home than he had felt in a very long time, “Brian, I’ve made my peace with it. I wouldn’t have come back if I hadn’t. It’s okay for you to talk about it. I won’t run again. I’m happy with what I have at the moment.” 

Brian really wanted Roger to burst out of their room and run down the stairs so that they could finally get out of the house and be with the older man again. Or so that he could hear what Tim was saying, and that Roger wouldn’t have to hold back and try to talk about… well frankly, there was nothing else they could talk about for the moment. Everything they had done or will do is related to the band, and they would probably run out of small talk very quickly if Tim were to be bitter about his lack of success. 

In fact, “I think I forgot to thank you all those years ago.” 

“Thank me?” 

“Mhm,” Brian leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together, “For being so honest. I don’t know what would have been of us if you hadn’t done what you did.” 

“We would probably not be here,” Tim said honestly, “I was young and stupid, and jealous, and I would have probably grown bitter and tried to sabotage you two. Or even worse, ask you to choose me instead of Queen.” 

“We would’ve.” 

“It would’ve killed you.” 

“We would’ve found something else to do.” 

“You say that now,” Tim said, he pressed a kiss to Brian’s cheek, “but I know you. You wouldn’t have been able to take it.

I’ve been to some of your shows, Brian. I’ve seen you both as you walk on that stage and pour your heart and soul into it. I’ve heard every single song you’ve created and paid attention to every single interview. Brian, you could’ve never chosen me and gotten away unharmed. You were both born for this. You’ve changed history, filled stadiums, made people cry and laugh and dance and made the world  _ that _ much better. It was me who had to change, not you, never you.” 

Brian wasn’t able to hold back. He was sure that if Roger were to walk in and find them, he wouldn’t feel jealous, so he just let the moment flow. He leaned forward, capturing Tim’s lips in his, and pouring in the three years of pent up emotions into the kiss. He had been waiting for the other man since the moment he had walked out of the door, and he wasn’t willing to wait a second more. 

Tim kissed him back with just as much fervour, he pressed himself to Brian as if leaving one inch of space between them would make them be torn apart again, and Brian was so damned grateful for the man. He could hear the door to their room open as Roger was finally ready, and he separated from Tim, who still looked dazed and far too happy for Roger not to know immediately what had been going on. 

“I’m so fucking glad we finally have you back.” 

Tim let out a loud guffaw that seemed to light up the room, just as Roger walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around the guitarist’s waist. It was then that he felt more at ease, more at home, than he had felt in the past three years of his life. He was sure that this wouldn’t be the end of it. You couldn’t just kiss and hope everything would be indefinitely okay, but it was a start, a damned good start. 

It took them three years, and dozens of songs dedicated to each other, but at long last, they were finally back home. 


End file.
